At the Cabin and Other Novellas

AT THE CABIN AND OTHER NOVELLAS

By Christopher G. Bremicker

Copyright 2016 by Christopher G. Bremicker

Smashwords Edition

Cover Image by: Miss Mae

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

THE PAS

A fictional account of a hunting trip to Canada was about my father’s death.

AT THE CABIN

I spent summers at a cabin in northern Minnesota through childhood, puberty, and young adulthood.

THE ARMY

I recollected three years of military life with regrets and joy.

CHURCH

A small church downtown healed me and gave me joy.

AN IDYLLIC CHILDHOOD

My happy upbringing involved flying my father’s airplane, life at our family cabin up north, membership at country clubs, abundant possessions, friends, and family.

THE SHOOT

My brother, his dog, and I hunted ducks one hour north of Minneapolis.

SKIING

I helped start the ski craze and kept it going.

FISHING ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER

My brother and I learned late in life to enjoy catfishing on the river.

PELICAN LAKE

From the psych ward, an award ceremony, to saving my brother’s life, I came a long way.

MY ALCOHOLISM

A history of drinking led to A.A. and the life I enjoyed today.

EAGLE CLAW

I rewrote a military operation gone wrong.

MY MEDICINE CABINET

I took ten drugs for my heart and mental problems.

THE POOR

My poverty contrasted with my affluent upbringing.

WEST SEVENTH STREET

My favorite street was once the route soldiers took from Ft. Snelling to town to drink.

THE AFFAIR

I was in an affair that lasted a year.

KILL SHOT

A Mormon friend had a heart attack in a handball court, I gave him CPR, and he survived.

THE BEWITCHING HOUR

I drank and chased women.

RELAPSE

I slipped, after twenty-five years of sobriety.

PORTLAND

The month before my breakdown was full of boyish fun.

STU

A good friend got cancer.

DIET

I lost weight with the help of a dietician.

MUSIC

I loved music but had no musical talent.

MY OLD MAN II

My father stole money to protect himself and my mother from poverty.

THE NOVELLAS:

THE PAS

Part I

It was late October in northern Wisconsin and the trees were orange and red. The big aluminum boat was hitched to the pick-up truck. The duck boat was strapped upside down across it. In the bed of the truck were six burlap bags of decoys, a bag of camouflaged netting, and three shotgun shell boxes. There were bags of hunting clothes and two boxes of groceries, also. My brother’s golden retriever was in the back seat of the truck with the shotguns.

Have we got everything? Dad asked my brother, Tim, and me. If so, let’s say goodbye to your mother.

Our mother came out of the house and stood at the door. Be careful, she cautioned. Drive safely. Dad kissed her goodbye. Good hunting, she said.

We got into the truck. We drove out of the cul-de-sac near the house, along the dirt road to the highway, and turned north. Tim, you drive to Proctor, Dad advised. We’ll get shotgun shells there. We’ll eat dinner in Bemidji. Chris can drive from there to the border. I’ll take her into Canada.

We drove through the Chequamegon National Forest with cars parked at the Black Bear Bar at eight o’clock in the morning. You’d think those guys would have something better to do, Dad commented. We drove through Grandview with its white meeting hall and down into the Bibon Swamp. The road then went up a hill at Mason onto a plateau of farmland. Tim turned west onto U.S. Highway 2. We drove through wooded country and past small towns below Lake Superior.

Superior was a town of fast food joints, old churches, shops, and a stop light at a street of flop houses and bars. The wide, smooth, blue bridge took us into Duluth. We were out of Wisconsin. We turned onto the interstate highway and went up a long hill to Proctor. We stopped at a Holiday gas station and bought twelve boxes of shotgun shells. I just paid two hundred and forty dollars for shotgun shells! Dad exclaimed. The manager at the station gave us a cardboard box to carry them. We put the shotgun shells in the back seat of the truck.

We drove through the farmland of northern Minnesota. One town on the Mississippi River had a catfish festival. Another town had an antique store with a gas station with an antique gas pump. Then we were in the lake country. Bemidji was on a large lake which extended into the dark. When we found a supper club, Dad announced, I’m going to have a drink.

The Pas is excellent duck hunting, Dad explained at the table over a Manhattan. A friend of mine slaughtered them there last year. I’m paying for the whole trip, everything, even the licenses. Let’s each have a Porterhouse steak and a baked potato. We ate dinner. Dad had a second Manhattan.

I drove toward the interstate highway that bordered Minnesota and North Dakota that would take us into Canada. The land was wooded then became prairie then farmland as we approached western Minnesota. We turned north onto the freeway. After two hours, we reached the Canadian border. The customs building was in the middle of nowhere. The customs agent looked in the back of the truck and motioned us into Canada. We’re not carrying booze so they don’t bother us, Dad explained. He took us up through the night along the highway toward The Pas.

Farmland extended for miles on each side of the highway. Two hours later we were driving alongside the western side of the city of Winnipeg. We could see the lights of its suburbs from the road. Then we drove around Lake Manitoba. The terrain was rolling with farmland and woods. Rivers drained east into Lake Winnibigoshish. Above Lake Winnibigoshish, the land was heavily wooded with huge expanses of spruce trees. There were thousands of lakes of good size. Some were huge marshes.

Ten hours after leaving the border, a small town appeared with low buildings that were dispersed for two miles along the highway. Wilderness on the east and west defined the town. Gentlemen, we are in the middle of nowhere, Dad stated. On the map, there were thousands of lakes all the way to the Arctic Circle. We were in The Pas. There were few lights on.

We drove a mile north of town and found a sign that directed us toward Swanson’s Resort. We pulled off the highway onto a road that curved around for a while. Then we turned into a driveway by a large house on a lake with three cabins off to the side. The headlights of the truck swept across the yard. A man came out of the house. We could see his figure in the bright light from the dock. Dad rolled down the window of the truck. Bill Swanson! the man exclaimed. He held out his hand with a grin.

Paul Bremicker, Bill, our father said. These are my sons, Chris and Tim. It’s a long way up here!

Yes, it is, Swanson said. You men unpack. The hunting will be good. The ducks are starting to migrate.

Where do you want us? Dad asked.

First cabin, Swanson stated. My daughter, Nancy, has got the beds made and your lunches in the refrigerator.

Great! Dad exclaimed. We look forward to meeting her.

Get some sleep, Swanson told us. I’ll be over with licenses and directions on where to hunt in the morning. Your cabin is warm. We unpacked everything from the truck. We got into bed and slept well.

Part II

I awoke to the sound of Swanson’s voice. Swanson was in the kitchen with Dad. Tim and I leaped out of bed and dressed into long underwear, hunting pants with suspenders, wool shirts, fur-lined hunting caps, camouflaged parkas, and hip boots.

Good morning! Dad shouted. Breakfast is pancakes, ham, and orange juice. It’ll be ready in a jiffy.

The cabin was small with white clapboard on the outside and birch paneling on the inside. There was a small window on each side of the cabin. A picture window looked out onto the lake from the living room. A stuffed canvasback duck hung on the living room wall next to a poster of North American migratory waterfowl. There was one bedroom with two beds and a pullout couch where Dad slept. His gear was on the floor. The kitchen was small.

I took the plate Dad offered and sat down to eat at the small table. Tim and Swanson discussed the preparations for the hunt. We would put the boat in from the ramp next to the dock. The point was two miles across the lake. It was a clear morning. There were still some canvasbacks around.

Here are the licenses, Swanson told us. He held out the non-resident Canadian hunting licenses. You’ll need permits and stamps, too, he added. There’s a bufflehead on the stamp. We looked at the stamps with a green-and-white-headed butterball required for hunting in Manitoba.

I said I’d pay, Dad explained. He went over by the couch, picked up his pants, withdrew his wallet, and pulled out three one-hundred-dollar bills.

That’s fine, Paul, Swanson said. I’ll get you your change when you come back. Let’s get going.

The night before dawn was cold. The stars were as big as baseballs. The Milky Way was a road across the sky. The light was on in the yard. We took the duck boat off the trailer, put it in the water, and transferred the decoy bags into it. We lowered the big boat in. Both boats were now halfway in the water on the ramp next to the dock.

The point is straight out that way, Swanson stated. You’ll see it when you get near it. We pushed the boat into the big lake. The motor started on the first pull. We drove away from the dock. The duck boat turned with the rope then pulled behind the boat. Swanson waved goodbye in the light.

The lake was black but the stars lit the shore. Dad gunned the motor. The dog sat in the bow sniffing the night air. Tim sat on one seat and I sat on a bag of decoys. The duck boat skied behind the boat in the wake. Soon we were near the point.

Chris, you and Dad set the redheads and canvasbacks, Tim told us. I’ll get in the duck boat and lay the bluebill rig. Let’s pull into shore and transfer the bags.

Dad and I waited offshore in the big boat for Tim to establish the line of bluebill decoys. He worked slowly. He unwound the strings and placed each block in relationship to the others. We could see his figure in the night. The dog was in the duck boat with him. There was a gentle wind. After a while Tim had fifty decoys in a line within gun range off the point. We could see their little figures in the dark.

Put the redheads down from the bluebills, Tim ordered. Put the canvasbacks in with them. Dad and I unwound the strings on each decoy and placed them in the water. Our voices carried above the splashing of the waves on shore. Let’s get in, Tim stated. We’ve got half an hour to shooting time.

We sat on huge rocks created by glaciers between the rushes and waited for sunrise. Ten redheads flapped into the decoys. We heard them swish into the water.

The sky lightened. We could see ducks working the east shore against the coming sun. The lake was big. Rocks surrounded the lake and there were low rushes all around it. The point stuck into the middle of the lake.

Ten minutes to shooting time, Tim whispered.

A flock tilted over the decoys. We could have hit them with our gun barrels. Next bunch, Tim said. We loaded our shotguns. Six redheads approached the decoys. Their wings tilted. Their feet reached and their heads looked down. Take them! Tim shouted. Drakes only. We rose and fired. Two drake redheads fell out of the flock. The dog trundled into the water and retrieved them.

Good shooting! I yelled.

I knew there was a reason we brought the dog, Dad laughed.

The day continued like that. The sun rose and the daylight brightened the rushes and the water on the rocks. It lit the field of wild rice in the bay off the point. We shot a few ducks occasionally. They decoyed well. They were mostly redheads. We shot a few canvasbacks, also, and several bluebills.

We had lunch, roast beef and Swiss cheese sandwiches, apples, Fritos, and brownies with white frosting. That Nancy must be some kid, Dad mused.

The flocks kept coming. By two o’clock we had our limit of redheads and canvasbacks. We packed up and motored back to Swanson’s Resort. The sun was warm on our clothing. The ducks were lined up on the seat of the boat. The redheads had deeply burnished, brown heads and the canvasbacks had wedge-shaped bills. We pulled into the dock. Swanson met us and smiled.

We heard your shooting! he shouted. You got something.

They poured in! Tim yelled.

Nice bunch of ducks, Swanson said looking into the boat. Nancy will clean them.

I’ll help her, I told Swanson as I got out of the boat.

Nancy came out of the house. She was blond, slightly plump, with a slight smile and bright blue eyes. She wore blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt that hung out.

Nancy, Swanson said. These are the Bremickers, Paul and his sons, Chris and Tim.

Hi, she said. I see you did well.

We shot well, I told her.

Nancy, Swanson explained, Chris is going to help you clean the ducks.

Great! she exclaimed and smiled at me. The paraffin is on the stove!

Get the ducks up on the yard next to the house, Swanson ordered. We all carried the ducks up and lined them up in the grass. Dad took a picture of everyone standing behind them.

How do you do this, Nancy? I asked as we sat down to begin cleaning the ducks.

Just pluck, she explained. We began plucking the feathers off the ducks. The feathers fell in clumps from the mature birds. These are nice ducks, she remarked.

They kept coming in, I told her.

They pluck easy, she stated.

Have you lived up here all your life? I asked.

Yes, she replied. Mom died five years ago. I help out in the fall.

What about the rest of the time? I asked her.

I work at the post office in town, she responded.

Do you think you’ll stay? I asked.

Probably, she replied. I know everybody up here. We finished plucking the feathers off the ducks. I’ll get the paraffin, Nancy stated. She brought the kettle of paraffin and some newspaper out of the house. She laid the ducks on the newspaper. Just pour the paraffin on them, let them dry on the newspaper, and peel the wax off, she told me. The feathers come right out, good enough to frame.

Are you seeing someone now? I asked her.

Just someone now and then, she replied.

Would you like to go out tonight? I asked her.

I’d love to, she replied. There’s a café in town where we can have coffee.

Nancy cut the heads and legs off the ducks and I gutted them. Nancy placed them in Saran Wrap and tin foil. She took them inside the house where there was a big freezer. I went back to the cabin where Dad was reading.

Is Nancy a nice girl? he asked.

She’s very nice, I said. We’re going out after dinner.

Good, Dad stated. Be nice to her.

I took a nap before dinner. Dad had a Manhattan while he cooked dinner. He made pork chops, sauerkraut, and baked potatoes. We had a big salad with Thousand Island dressing. We sat down to dinner at the small table.

There’s nothing I like better than hunting with my sons, Dad said.

The radio said it’s supposed to get cold tonight, Tim said. We might get bluebills tomorrow.

We finished dinner. You better get going, Dad told me.

I shaved, put on a clean shirt, and walked over to the Swanson house. Nancy opened the door. Swanson was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. There was a bear rug above a fireplace and a shelf of books in the living room. I said hello to Swanson.

Hi, Chris, he said. How do you like it up here?

I envy you living here, I replied.

Don’t envy us too much, Swanson replied. It’s tough living here.

Nancy and I said goodbye to Swanson, got into the truck, and drove into The Pas. The café had red-checked table cloths, dark woodwork, and stuffed ducks and geese on the walls. The waitress brought a pot of coffee to our table. I poured the coffee.

How do you and your father get along? I asked Nancy.

We get along well, she answered. He treats me well.

I work for my father, too, I stated. We have a small lumber yard in a small town.

Is your father a good boss? Nancy asked me.

Yes, I responded. He’s very fair but he takes on too much of the workload himself.

My father just wants me to be happy, Nancy said.

Dad just likes to see me work, I told her and smiled. Some other hunters came into the café. They had Southern accents, talked loudly, and wore camouflaged shirts. Nancy and I decided to have a second cup of coffee while they said they had good hunting, too.

Should we leave? Nancy asked. You have to get up early tomorrow. I paid the waitress and we left The Pas and drove back to Swanson’s Resort. I walked Nancy to the door of her house.

Good night, I said.

Good night, she stated. Good luck tomorrow.

After she went inside her house, I walked back to our cabin. Shortly, I got into bed and thought about Nancy. The waves splashed on shore.

III

In the morning, Dad was at the stove. Breakfast was fried eggs, fried potatoes, sausage, toast, orange juice, and coffee.

The weather has changed! Tim exclaimed after taking a dish of food out to the dog. It’s overcast and cold.

Swanson came into the cabin while we were eating. Good morning men! he hailed. The wind is up and out of the northwest. Hunt the same point. The wind will be at your back. The temperature is down twenty degrees. Dress warmly. The bluebills will be moving.

We finished eating, got dressed, and put the boat in the water. Waves crashed against the transom. The night was deep. The only light that shined on the lake came from the lamp on the dock. We drove away from the dock and headed in the direction of the point. We found it as we approached closer to it. Tim laid the bluebill decoys, angling them across the rocks out from the point. Dad and I unwound the big cork redheads and canvasbacks with wooden heads and threw them between the bluebill rig and shore. Waves rocked the boats. The wind moved us quickly down the length of the rig. We rowed in and got in place on the rocks on shore. Sunrise was in twenty minutes.

A flock of twenty bluebills cut like jets across the setup, became silent then returned. We heard the splashes when the ducks landed. There were twenty bluebills in the rig. Let those birds stay in the rig, Tim said. They can help decoy the ducks. Let’s load up, he added. It’s almost shooting time.

Wings tore overhead. A single came from the north, flared at the head of the decoys, and flew off. A flock of fifty came off the big lake. They tilted over the decoys. Their wings tore like silk. They moved out over the water and returned with flaps down. They veered for position. Their black heads looked down and their feet reached for the water.

Take them! Tim shouted.

We stood and shot. Five bluebills fell out of the flock. They lay white belly up in the water. One of the duck’s legs paddled the air. The dog leaped into the water to retrieve the closest duck. Tim ran to the duck boat, rowed out, and returned with three ducks. The dog retrieved the last duck. We lined the ducks up on the seat of the boat. Their heads were so black and iridescent they were green.

A single flew in. Dad dropped it with one shot. He hit it in the breast as the duck settled toward the water. Two ducks soared over our heads, receded into the lake and returned. We got one. A flock of twenty planed over the rig and faded into the gray morning. Their white wing edges showed as they made the swing back to the decoys. The ducks settled and their feet reached. We shot three. This went on until ten o’clock. Then the ducks stopped flying.

They’re all rafted up, Tim explained. They’re probably in the middle of the lake. They’re just starting to move. We’ll have good hunting tomorrow.

A single flew along the rig. Dad shot three times and missed. He was behind the duck. Three flew in formation up the shore from the west and came in with heads back and feet stretching for the water. We dropped one. The dog retrieved it. We took another duck at sixty miles an hour going downwind. It somersaulted into the water. We decided to go back to the resort.

We unloaded our shotguns, cased them, and took in the decoys. Tim snagged them with a long pole. Dad and I wound them up and put them on the floor of the boat. We started the motor and headed back to Swanson’s Resort. The bluebills were stacked on the seat of the boat. Their bills were royal blue. Swanson met us at the dock.

Paul, get the boat out of the water and get the ducks on shore, he ordered. I built a fire in your wood stove. He reached down to help Dad out of the boat.

It was a beautiful hunt, Bill! Dad exclaimed.

Nancy came out of the cabin as we pulled the boat onto shore. The wind blew her hair and the waves splashed on shore. You did it again, I see, she said. Chris, are you going to help with the cleaning?

You bet! I exclaimed.

We took the ducks out of the boat and laid them in the grass on the front yard. Dad took a picture of Tim, me, and the dog behind the row of ducks. There were twelve bluebills in a line.

We went into the cabin and took off our hunting clothes. Dad fussed in the kitchen. Tim did the morning dishes. I went outside to help Nancy clean the ducks.

The mighty hunter, she teased. We sat down next to each other and ripped the feathers from the skin of the ducks.

They were all over the place, I told her.

It’s the time of year, she said. If it stays this cold you’ll have shooting like this for a week.

Look at the heads on these ducks! I exclaimed. They shimmer.

They’re northern bluebills, Chris, she explained. They’re lesser scaup. See the white speculum along the wings? We’re on the upper Mississippi Flyway. They stage up here. There were feathers around our legs. I’ll get the paraffin. She returned with the kettle of hot wax. The ducks nest in the shallow lakes in this area, she continued. When the weather changes like last night they start to move. It is part internal clock and part climate. We finished plucking the ducks until they were smooth-skinned like chickens at a grocery store. You’ve got a nice bag here. I’ll cut the heads and legs off. You gut them.

Nancy wrapped them in Saran Wrap and took them into the house. I went into the cabin and washed my hands. Dad was at the stove.

I’ve got a ham, scalloped potatoes, and broccoli for dinner, Dad told Tim and me. How does that sound?

It sounds great! I exclaimed. That’s a beautiful bunch of bluebills. What’s the weather report for tomorrow?

They’re predicting snow, Tim told us. That will drive the ducks through.

I can think of a lot of guys who would give their eye teeth to be here, Dad stated. Dad and Tim took a nap in the afternoon. I read a National Geographic magazine. After dinner, I cleared the table and washed the dishes.

I’m going to see Nancy, I stated.

As you wish, my father said. He was reading on the couch.

I walked across the yard. The light was on. I knocked on the door of the house and Nancy opened the door.

Hi, I said. Do you want to sit on the dock?

Yes, she replied. I’ll get a coat.

We walked below the light, onto the dock, and out to the bench on the T- section. We sat down on the bench and looked at the lake.

It’s a nice night, I stated. Look at the stars.

Yes, she said. They are like that up here. We were quiet for a moment and looked at the lake.

Do you get lonely up here? I asked.

I have friends in town, she answered. Dad and I keep each other company. We turned to look at each other.

Can I kiss you? I asked her.

Yes, she replied. I held her and kissed her. We kissed and held each other for a while.

Maybe we should head in, she said. We walked up the dock, across the yard, to the door of her house.

Good night, I said and we kissed again.

Good night, she said. Good luck tomorrow. We kissed then she went inside her house and closed the door. I crossed the yard, went into the cabin, and soon got into bed. I slept then woke in the night and thought about Nancy. The waves splashed on shore.

IV

Swanson came in at breakfast time. It looks like snow, he warned. I want you to hunt close to the resort. There’s a point half a mile down shore. If you have problems, I can get to you. There’ll be bluebills for sure.

We ate breakfast quickly. The cold was sharp and waves came out of the north across the dock. We motored down to the point. We could see Swanson’s light up shore as we put in the decoys. We stood on the rocks behind a stand of hard stem rushes. At shooting time, a single bluebill came in and we shot it.

The shooting was quiet for a while. The clouds were thick, low, and gray over the lake. Our breath steamed and we moved our fingers to keep warm. The snow started. There was a flake or two at first, then light flurries. Then a blizzard closed in. The rushes were lined white, our collars held rims of snow against our necks, and the thermos jug was topped white. The ducks came.

A flock of approximately one hundred bluebills cut across the decoys, circled, disappeared into the snow, and returned. We shot through the snow and dropped five. Ten came in upwind along the decoys and set their wings to settle. We missed them. Two came out of the snow and we got both as they flared over the line of decoys. A dozen came straight in. They appeared suddenly out of the thick snow. We dropped three. A single got it at twenty yards as it arced over the rig.

The ducks came through the blowing snow.